


Dear Lula

by awanface



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Mansfield Park - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emails, Epistolary, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Minor Genderswap, Multi, Slow Burn, University AU, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awanface/pseuds/awanface
Summary: University AU where Caroline Bingley, Mary Crawford and Frances Bertram share a flat and maybe also clothes and crushes (i.e. Ned Bertram); Charlie Bingley throws parties in his and Liam Darcy's house with the help of Frank Churchill; Ian Willoughby and Henry Crawford have an indie rock band and collect groupies (i.e. Mayra Deshmukh); and exchange students Bet Benítez and Joana Jardins arrive to the city, among some other things.Caroline appreciated the incongruity in him: confident but self-deprecating, cerebral and silly. Yes, she could see his appeal. A look from Henry Crawford made you feel strangely interesting—and he looked at her with curiosity, that was true.





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned: This first chapter is just a list of all the characters, some of which won't appear until half-way through the fic. Meaning, it's a helpful list, but it contains spoilers.

**MANCHESTER**

Halls (Victoria Park)  
Caroline Bingley, 17, first year International Business  
Mary Crawford, 18, first year Law  
Frances Bertram, 18, first year Global Health

Rented House (Didsbury)  
Charlie Bingley, 20, Caroline's brother, third year Business & Sociology  
Fitzwilliam 'Liam' Darcy, 20, Charlie's best friend, third year Biochemistry  
Ela Deshmukh, 20, third year Biochemistry  
Edward Ferrars, 20, third year Computer Science  
Frank Churchill, 21, third year Business & Sociology, Buveurs Désolés bass player

Rented Flat (Northern Quarter)  
Henry Crawford, 21, Mary's brother, graduated in Philosophy & Politics, Buveurs Désolés leader & guitarists  
Ian 'Will' Willoughby, 20, English drop out, singer of Buveurs Désolés

Owned House (Victoria Park)  
Edmund 'Ned' Bertram, 20, Frances' cousin, third year Religions & Theology  
Mia Bertram, 19, Frances' cousin, second year History of Art  
Julia Bertram, 18, Frances' cousin, first year Dentistry  
Hal Tae, 20, Edmund's best friend, third year Religions & Theology

Rented rooms in shared-house (Rusholme)  
Bet Benítez, 20, Erasmus from Barcelona, third year English  
Joana Jardins, 20, Erasmus from Barcelona, third year English

Others:

Halls (Fallowfield)  
Mayra Deshmukh, 17, Ela's sister, first year English  
Bel Thorpe, 18, Mayra's flat-mate, first year Psychology  
Kate Morland, 18, Mayra's flat-mate, first year Screen Studies

Halls (Victoria Park)  
Jamie Fashanu, 19, second year Computer Science, Buveurs Désolés drummer

 

**LONDON**

Louisa 'Lula' Bingley, 23, Caroline and Charlie's sister, engaged to John Hurst

 

**CAMBRIDGE**

(Hon.) Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, 21, Liam's cousin, four year Medicine


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subject: Wouldn’t it be nice if I were your only sibling

**From:** Caroline Bingley  <[cbingley98@gmail.com](mailto:cbingley98@gmail.com)>  
**To:** Louisa Bingley  <[louisabingley@gmail.com](mailto:louisabingley@gmail.com)>  
**Date:** 14 September 2016, 18:36  
**Subject:** oh dear

Dear Lula,

I thought there was like literally nobody here, but after I’d been two hours in the common room a girl came out from one of the rooms. She’s very quiet AND is wearing a headband.

Tell you more when I have more to tell.

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 15 September 2016, 19:11  
**Subject:** RE oh dear

Nothing so dreary, don’t worry.

Headband girl, also known as Frances (I mean, that’s her name) is, well, nice. You know what I mean, though, right? She wears a headband and I’ve got a feeling she bakes. Though at the moment she’s only cooked, for me as well (quite bland pasta with broccoli), so I shouldn’t complain too much. The other girl, pretty but sort of odd, just arrived a while ago—

Back now, that was her knocking on my door. I think I like her but can’t trust her at all yet.

New girl (Mary): So, Frances seems nice.

I swear she used a tone when she said the word nice.

Me: Yes, quite nice.

I definitely used a tone.

Mary: That’s what I thought. Should we invite her out?

We decided we should, though she would probably say no. We did, she said no, and so Mary and I are going to the pub now.

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 16 September 2016, 12:28  
**Subject:** RE oh dear

Dear Lula,

By odd I mean that she wears those huge high-waisted mom jeans, and when she arrived she was wearing like a turban, though she took it of before we left—she’s got black short hair, a bit but not exactly like that Mica model on the Sandro ads, you know who I mean? Of course you do. I mean, I wdn’t wear any of her clothes in a lifetime, but she looks good on them. I also don’t think she’s L’s type at all. So no conflict of interests. Frances’ got no style at all, unless you can call wearing knitted sweaters with knee-length skirts a style.

It was fun last night. The city’s crowded though. Mary took me to a pub her brother had recommended. (He finished his BA in June but he’s still living in the city.) Bartenders were fit (most likely gay) and cocktail juggled and all. Many clingy boys. One guy tried to chat me up and then Mary, right in front of each other. The best though was that after that he went to the next table and did the exact same number on other three girls.

Also, a girl said to me: Nice top though. I said “Thank you” but now I’m sort of wondering if the “though” was, like mama says, “an annoying tic”, or if she was actually being ironic. Though my top was nice so I guess there’s no question about which way she meant it. I even checked it and it wasn’t ripped or dirty or anything.

Today we went for breakfast at Costa and took Frances with us. Turns out she's doing Global Health (I was half-expecting her to say Children’s Nursing or something) and Mary’s reading Law. Anyways, I haven’t met anybody from Business yet.

And I haven’t seen Charlie either.

Nor L.

Love,

Caroline

PS: Tell me more about the flat/house hunting. Know it’s horrid but you make it sound exciting.

 

 **Date:** 18 September 2016, 17:41  
**Subject:** RE Maida Vale

Dearest Lula,

Loved the house on the second link, I’m jealous just thinking you could live there. Did you go? How was it?!

I started classes yesterday. Well, “classes”, you know. I’ve talked to some of my classmates but nothing very interesting. I actually sat with a girl yesterday and she was one of those with the cheapest plastic shopper ted baker and like giggling all the time, you know? And she got flustered when a couple of fit guys sat in front of us. I avoided her today but she didn’t get it, just thought I hadn’t seen her and started calling me, so I turned around and said “Oh, hello Margaret”, though I knew full well her name was Emily, and proceeded to sit with a girl with a pink michael kors.

I’ll just cut to the most interesting bit: Today I saw Charlie… and L!!!! I mean, Charlie had all but established they’d be at the Union Bar at some point of the late morning, and I made it so that M and I would be there (I asked F too but she had some society thing). We were lucky and arrived first, so that when they got there they were the ones who had to sit with us! I had said nothing to M, of course, but I guess she noticed, because after they left she was like: What’s the story there, mate? I tried to be cool about it at first, but the more she said he was fit and that she wanted to know the story, the more I talked. I even told her about that time Charlie invited him home for Easter but then he only talked to your John about video games, and L and I talked for like an hour straight and he told me how every year he wd hide the eggs for her sister to find and how he wanted to cure cancer and it was really romantic (not curing cancer, our afternoon). Anyway, she totally didn’t think I was a psycho. She said L looked happy to see me, so that’s nice.

Speaking of nice, I met my tandem partner. You know that thing where I speak Spanish so she corrects me and she speaks English and I help her improve it? I mean, my Spanish is quite a lot better than her English, but she was lovely.

And yes, you were right, absolutely all my meals have been outside or pre-cooked. Or cooked by F (that’s happened only twice, though). I think though that going to restaurants with M is making me want to learn to cook—she’s vegan and all our options tend to be quite unappetising.

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 22 September 2016, 20:32  
**Subject:** RE Maida Vale

Lula,

You know what would be splendid? If you came for Charlie’s party! He’s organised this big event at their house (which no, I haven’t seen), but I don’t think he’s let L know yet. I mean, there’s an event on FB so he’s probably figured it out? I don’t know if I should warn him—don't want to get in his bad books etc.

More: A guy came to our flat to see Frances today. Like M and I were hallucinating. He’s quite fit—I think Mexican? I thought he was her boyfriend (though, let me tell you, not a great match) but the fact was that he could not, he WOULD NOT take his eyes of M. And even though he came to see F they spent the whole time in the kitchen with us. M played it cool but later when we were alone she admitted she was “not uninterested.” I thought first F looked sort of disappointed, but latter said they were cousins (though they look nothing alike), so that’s good. She had actually baked some muffins (I took two to my bedroom so I’d have something to eat tonight, so don’t you worry).

I think that’s all, hm. Well, there’s that band we’re supposed to see play in a couple of weeks (they’re called Buveurs Désolés). It’s M’s brother with some of his friends. They’re gonna play in a pub in the northern quarter, which promises to be interesting.

Love love and more love,

Caroline

PS: Yes I also have it but I haven’t used it in like three years, and it’s only one of the ted bakers I have. I was actually wearing the white leather one that day.

 

 **Date:** 25 September 2016, 16:13  
**Subject:** Wouldn’t it be nice if I were your only sibling

Oh, DEAR!! Charlie saw me today with Joana (the tandem partner from Barcelona) and now he won’t stop texting me about how she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen!!!! If there’s something I hate more than Charlie in love with a girl is Charlie talking about the girl he’s in love with. How didn’t I think of it?!

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 25 September 2016, 16:48  
**Subject:** RE Wouldn’t it be nice if I were your only sibling

Dear Lula,

Of course he’s always like that, but I still wasn’t expecting him to fall for _her_! I am not even 100% sure she understands all that I say in English—we mostly speak Spanish—though I don’t figure this being a problem with Charlie. I don’t know much about her apart from the fact that she’s pretty. I’ll try dig out some more and tell you. I’ve just friended her on FB so you can spy her from there.

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 27 September 2016, 18:22  
**Subject:** RE Wouldn’t it be nice if I were your only sibling

Dear Lula,

I had no choice, Charlie made me invite her to the party. I invited M, F and Ned (F’s cousin and best friend) as well as a couple of girls from class but I don’t think they’re coming. I told M she could invite her brother but she said Better Not. Whatever that means.

Oh, I talked to L about the party (on FB), he said he’d obviously figured it out because all the guests had mentioned it to him and also Charlie invited him on the event he created. Ofc.

The three of us went shopping yesterday and I got the best LBD for the occasion—revealing but classy, as always. M got a weird one from a second-hand store, and tried to convince F into buying a dress too—which was old-looking but not as old-looking as what she normally wears—but it didn’t work. I’ll take loads of pictures and show you!

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 29 September 2016, 18:38  
**Subject:** RE Enjoy the party!

THANK YOU! I’m so excited!!! We’ll have an amazing time!!!

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 30 September 2016, 01:12  
**Subject:** RE Enjoy the party!

TO HELL WITH FITZWILLIAM ELDRED DARCY. I hope he DIES.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT WEEK: The party, and why Caroline hates Fitzwilliam, narrated more or less objectively.
> 
> I'm feeling very insecure about posting this, but I really plan on finishing it (I have the next 5 chapters written) and that if somebody does read it they'll enjoy it :D Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d felt a shock when she’d touched him, a literal electric shock, his brain had gone numb and all his body warm. He hadn’t experienced anything like it before, had nothing to compare it to, and if he’d had time to think about it he wouldn’t have let it happen. So in a way it was fortunate that he hadn’t; he had enjoyed it while it lasted. Not now, he was hating it now. She was in front of him, the red obvious in her cheeks, waiting for him to say something.

**Young ladies slighted by other men**

Saturday, September the 29th

 

It was dark and it wasn’t raining, which was too much like a good omen to be taken as one. Freshers were still too unaccustomed to Mancunian weather to know that, and could not be faulted for taking such a starry night for granted. In fact, Frances was the only one to think that nothing good would come out of the night, although that was not the kind of thought she would admit to entertain publicly, and she hadn’t even looked up at the sky—not even at bright Saturn! Caroline hadn’t either, she was convinced that tonight would be one of those nights she would look back on in the future, and so she tried with all her might to convince herself otherwise—expectations did no one any good, ever. It was Mary, who not having ever been known to have a bad night, had nothing to worry about and was able to look up and say: “Would you look at that.” Neither of her new friends did. Ned, to her side, raised his head but, distracted by her beauty, looked instead at her profile: such a wonderful jawline, such a unique nose! Something had struck him and he didn’t know it yet. He would later think he’d actually looked at the stars and marvelled at them.

They were all surprised Frances had agreed to come, but only him realised just how out of character it was for her to do that. They’d only lived with her for a couple of weeks, he’d been her friend for many years now—eight? could it be? Eight years since his aunt and uncle had adopted her, and yet he couldn’t remember the first time he’d seen her—as if she’d always been there! That was a quality Frances had: ubiquity; mostly symbolically, but often literally. He always thought of her when he had to make a decision, and knew he’d done something wrong when he discovered himself omitting details to her. Still, in all fairness, he hadn’t been thinking about her when he’d accepted the invitation for today: not really. He’d said, out loud and to himself, I’ll keep Frances company, it’ll do her good to socialise and it’ll be easier if I’m by her side. But he’d known, by the time it had taken him to choose an outfit, that it was not her he thought of when he thought of the night at all. Nothing as serious as infatuation, he was just curious, wanted to know. What is that way of moving her shoulders, what’s up with her laugh? Mary! He wanted to know and he didn’t—this was one of the things he would never say to Frances.

And Frances suspected that, and hoped to be wrong. She was a master of reading him, he fooled himself thinking he was sparing her. He was terrible at hiding his thoughts, his emotions. At least to her, she could read him like a book: one with pictures and footnotes. Just look at how his voice changed when he talks to her. And yet, Frances knew what mattered: that he loved her, and that, after tonight and many nights like this one, it would be her who would still be by his side, always. Which was not so different from what Caroline was thinking, or it wouldn’t have been if Caroline were able to think about Fitzwilliam the way Frances did about Ned: unselfishly. Caroline liked to think that she would be by Fitzwilliam’s side, many years to come, by his choice, and would have considered any other alternative pathetic and in need of a reality-check. Not that she needed one now, of course, she still had some room for hope. Yes, Fitzwilliam showed no predilection for her, but no, he didn’t for any other women either (except his sister, but that was an altogether different kind of predilection). And it was occupied in such self-centred thoughts that they rang the bell, Mary’s exact one being Can’t wait to get plastered.

 

The house had three flats and five inhabitants, all third years, each with different thoughts on the party: There was Charlie, Caroline’s brother and the one that had organised it—in the sense that he’d created an event on Facebook, had invited all of his contacts, and had asked them to invite whomever they wanted and to Please bring their own booze; Fitzwilliam, who’d been friends with Charlie since they’d shared a flat as freshers, and who had been supposed to not know about the party until it were too late to cancel it (he had known, though); Ela, who’d invited her little sister, Mayra, to disguise the fact that she was quite excited herself; Edward, not interested in participating, but not annoyed enough by the idea to oppose it even once; and Frank, Charlie’s classmate, and as excited by parties as him.

Despite the general anticipation, there were guests who’d arrived to the house before the hosts had expected, there had been, in fact, guests who’d arrived there even before all the hosts were there, namely Frank. So that when Caroline’s party arrived, it wasn’t so early that Frank was still napping, but not late enough for him to be dressed already. It was a good enough time, considering they were sort of guests of honour (Caroline liked to think). They had rung the bell and Ela had went to the door but said to Charlie, at the last moment, “You know what, you open it” and had gone back to talk to Edward in the kitchen, so that Charlie had opened it, a beer already in hand and a grin in the face. His hair groomed into dark blond waves, Caroline was strangely proud to have a cool, handsome older brother to show off to her new friends. Nobody ever did not like Charlie, she just hoped he didn’t abandon her tonight. It was her plan to infiltrate his and Fitzwilliam’s relationship as seamlessly as if she’d always been part of the trio: let’s see if it worked. There were some people she didn’t know behind Charlie, and somewhere behind them there was Liam (that’s how Charlie called Fitzwilliam, and how she’d taken to call him too), whom she discreetly waved at. But she’d forgotten: she introduced Frances and Ned to Charlie, and then she took Mary’s hand and clasped it hard for a second. She was nervous! Mary just said “Won’t you stop smiling like that?” With a laugh, so that it wasn’t too mean.

Mary looked back at Ned and Frances with a mischievous smile. The latter looked for the sofa, making her better impression of not-terrified after having quickly said to Charlie a variation of Thank you for inviting us. Ned promised her he’d be back, and followed Mary to the kitchen, to empty their grocery bags. He hadn’t brought anything, and Mary’d made him stop to an off-license to “At least buy a pack of six”. She dumped her and Caroline’s gin by the marble top, and then thought better of it and hid it in a cabinet. Caroline said Hi to Liam, who said Hi back and How are you and Thank you for coming. Then Charlie wrapped his arms around their shoulders—Caroline had goosebumps, imagine, this is just a glimpse of what this year’s going to be!—and announced a tour of the house, so that they could leave their jackets and bags in his room. Not Frances, Thank you, she was still cold and needed her purse, “Fair enough”, Charlie said. Liam stayed, he said he didn’t need a tour. When the four of them got back, an actual DJ had arrived, and the house was fuller than when they’d gone up—even Frank was there.

The DJ was Jamie: Mary knew him. She went to him with a startled yell of excitement, to which he did not seem to respond very well, and hugged him. “It’s Jamie”, she said to Caroline, “he’s the drummer!” Caroline had no idea what she was talking about, where was Liam? And then, “Oh, the Buveurs Désolés’ drummer?” “Yes.” Mary asked him how he’d gotten the gig, and he’d said: “Frank lives here.” And Mary’d gone, “Fuck me, Frank’s here?” And laughed happily. “The world’s tiny, Caroline, tiny.” But then Jamie’d gotten to work, with an actual DJ set he’d brought, and when he set it up, the thing started for real.

Ned had gone back to find Frances, and had sat with her for a while. After some time he’d said: “I’ll go get a beer and come back,” and hadn’t come back. Mary talked to everybody, except Liam—Caroline had expressed explicit interest in him, and she was not good at not-flirting—and laughed the loudest with Mayra, who turned out to be as much of a music snob as her (Mary’s current obsession was Mitski, Mayra’s, Solange). Mary’d had more than half the bottle by herself, and Caroline still had her first gin and tonic in her hand. She didn’t like to drink alcohol, she wouldn’t admit it because it wasn’t cool, but it tasted badly. It was disgusting, in fact, and she’d never been actually drunk, hoped never to be. She was too afraid to do something embarrassing, namely, to let her feelings for Liam become obvious. She pretended to be drunk enough to say things mildly outrageous and speak French (Caroline could speak English, Spanish, French, and a tiny bit of Russian), which was thought of as generally sexy. And she was trying, with Liam, not all the time, she just went and left and then came back. She was trying, though, saying: Are these new? Pointing to his glasses, which were not, in any way, new. And Charlie was whining (“When did exactly Joana say she was coming?”) the exact moment Joana did, in fact, arrive, with her other friend from Barcelona. So it was another guest that opened the door to them, but Charlie was practically there at the same time, from how fast he ran: he brought them directly to Caroline, to make things less awkward.

“Did you find the house well? Is it raining?”

“No, no” Joana spoke shyly: English was not her first nor second language, she had to think hard before making a sentence.

“Oh, give me your coats. This is Liam, and Caroline you know.”

“Joana, so glad you came!” said Caroline in Spanish, while kissing each of her cheeks once, and then looked at her friend. “Hi! I’m Caroline, Joana’s tandem partner?” she said it as a question and she said it slowly, as if she might not follow. But Joana’s friend had already some preconceived ideas about Caroline, and was happy to discard any she had of her. English wasn’t her first language either, but she’d had much more practice than Joana. She liked to talk a lot.

“Oh yeah, nice to meet you, and thank you! I was afraid I’d intrude but I see there really is a party,” and laughed, and shook hands with Liam, saying: “Bet, with a hard tee.”

“Beth?” Caroline was ignored.

“Joana?” Said Charlie.

Yes: in a second it was decided that Charlie would put their coats in his room, and if Joana wanted he could get her a drink, and the two of them left, and Bet was there, saying “Oh, I brought beer.”

“That’s a nice house, do you also live here?” Caroline wondered what part was she supposed to play in this conversation, how didn’t this girl realise she was not wanted here, and had a bit of her drink for the first time in half an hour.

“Yes.” Was all that Liam offered, which was at least a comfort.

“Oh, god, you even got a DJ” was the next thing she said, laughing amiably and looking at Jamie. “I thought the music sounded loud!” She opened one of her cans of beer and had a sip.

Caroline felt bad and rescued the conversation, even if she’d come to regret it for evermore.

“You’re also from Barcelona?”

“Yes.”

“Your English is really good.” It was meant as condescending as it was said.

“I heard your Spanish isn’t bad, should we change languages?” and then looked at who had been introduced to her as Liam, “but I wouldn’t want to keep you out of the conversation.” More than he was now, she’d wanted it to mean.

“He speaks French,” said Caroline, defensively.

“Really? I don’t.”

There was a weird light in Liam’s eyes, who hadn’t said anything at all apart from that solitary Yes, and Bet didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. She generally avoided ridiculously hot guys, they clouded your judgement, were never as interesting as they thought, and once they’d made you suffer enough, they ended up with… Carolines.

“Oh, there’s Joana!” Bet walked towards her friend, who was coming down the stairs. She would’ve gone to rescue her if it’d taken her more than five minutes, and hoped Joana would’ve done the same for her, but it hadn’t been necessary. Joana smiled: well, she hadn’t stopped smiling, but Bet, who knew her well, realised that the smile had even gone to her eyes. Charlie was behind her.

“Isn’t that a nice house?” She said, in the way of conversation.

“Yes, yes, and the rooms too.” Said Joana. Charlie grinned more.

Caroline, just a few steps behind them, looked at Liam, who was looking at Charlie. They were all looking at Charlie, even Bet, when she asked:

“And I like that there’s so many books in the living room, are they yours?”

Charlie laughed more.

“No, they’re Liam’s.”

And as he heard his name, he approached:

“What?”

Caroline followed him.

“The books: I was saying it’s nice to see so many.”

“Well, there’s even more in his room.” Said Caroline, and Liam couldn’t even look at her, and Joana blushed, and Bet knew she hadn’t meant what she pretended she’d meant. These two hadn’t hooked up ever, at least not yet.

“But not as interesting as these, surely?” She joked, taking out a book titled _Roitt's Essential Immunology_. They all laughed, except Liam, who just wrinkled his nose a bit.

Charlie said: “Drinks, anyone?” And everyone said “I’m fine,” except Joana who asked for a glass of water. Bet had another sip of her beer.

“These are textbooks.” He provided as a way of explanation after a few seconds.

“I gathered. I much prefer browsing other people’s novels though.”

Caroline was going to say, Liam doesn’t read novels, and got as far as saying his name.

“Why?”

“I love to see what people read.”

“Why?”

“Well, it says a lot about them, doesn’t it?”

Now Caroline laughed a bit: “Yes, but maybe you wouldn’t recognise the books.”

“Yeah, maybe. But—”

“What?” He was curious, now they both saw it.

“I don’t know: it says a lot. It says a lot, a guy, if he has more Hemingways or Pratchetts or Joyces, or if he even has them at all. Well, maybe you’ve only got leather-bound Shakespeares.”

“A family heirloom.” You wouldn’t know if he was joking or not. Well, Caroline assumed he wasn’t and Bet assumed he was, and so she laughed.

“Where’s the bin?”

Caroline quickly pointed towards the kitchen, and as neither made any shadow of a movement, Bet said simply “Thanks”, and left them there. Not saying absolutely anything, Liam followed her a minute later, though he went directly to Charlie’s side.

Caroline felt first really hot and then really cold. She looked about and saw Frances by herself at the couch, with a glass in her hand: was she drinking? Surely not!

“Are you alright? Is that alcohol?”

“Apple juice.”

“Oh, that’d be nice.” And she finished her gin and tonic with a big gulp. She just needed more courage: a second to recover, cut her losses, as they said, and go out again! I mean: had anyone seen her dress? It was black, and short (but respectable), and had a V-neck that would’ve been indecent in a girl with bigger breasts, but that in her looked just the right amount of flirty. She was thin, tall, taller even with the shoes she was wearing, and had even fake lashes on! What was wrong with the world?

 

Mary was having the time of her life, and every time a song she loved played she asked Ned: “Do you know this one?” And he said “No” and she laughed more, throwing her head back and showing off her neck, voluntarily or not. She touched him, innocently: a hand in his elbow, one in his back. He also did it with Frank, who she’d known for longer, so it wasn’t so obvious. She even hugged Mayra a lot, but what a cool girl! They bonded over how much they both wanted a nose job. Ned hadn’t heard them or he would’ve been horrified. Frank had, and had said: “Then you’d be perfect!” Which is not what one wants to hear but it also isn’t. Mary asked for some Father John Misty and Jamie said “C’mon, they’re gonna kill me if I play anything slower than The XX.” Frank asked for Run The Jewels and Jamie silently complied. They teased Ned about choosing someone cool to play, and he went with Bowie: you never got it wrong with Bowie. The four of them yelled the lyrics of Space Oddity, some more drunkenly than others.

Caroline thought of joining them but had no idea of how the song went. She did a tour of the living room and when she came back Frances was talking to Ela. God, she was hungry! She hadn’t had anything for dinner so that her stomach wouldn’t show in the dress. Mary'd thought it idiotic but then she had only eaten an apple—still, she wasn’t as thin as Caroline and her stomach did show under the extremely tight velvet body and the high-waisted jeans, the vintage dress forgotten in a chair on her room. Where was Charlie? There, there he was, still with Joana, but also with Edward and a girl she didn’t know. Had her friend Bet abandoned her? It was impossible that she would be still with Liam, Liam couldn’t stand anybody other than Charlie for that long.

She went to the kitchen to find what was left of their gin, and then she thought she saw something and realised she couldn’t have: Why would Liam, of all people, have his hands in that (fat) girl’s waist? Why would her (basic) arms be around his neck? It wasn’t Liam, it was another exceptionally tall blond guy in a black shirt. But then someone pushed them aside to open the fridge and Caroline saw that yes, it was Liam, passionately kissing that Bet girl. Had she no shame? Her heart raced to her ears, the only thing she heard were its beats, no music at all. It was in her neck too, so much that she couldn’t even swallow her own saliva: anyway, her mouth was dry. She turned back and left the kitchen before anyone could see her. She was good at poker faces, but not now, just not now. She went directly to the sofa, opposite side of Frances, and covered her face with her own knees: If anybody asked, she was drunk. Oh, dear, now she knew what people meant when they said they needed a drink.

Liam had no idea himself how it had happened, honest, and it hadn’t even lasted that long. It started when Bet cut him mid-sentence to lock her lips to his, and it ended when someone pushed them and they were brought back to the real world. So: he didn’t know why Bet had kissed him, but, if he was completely honest with himself, he knew why he’d kissed her back: he had enjoyed it. He’d felt a shock when she’d touched him, a literal electric shock, his brain had gone numb and all his body warm. He hadn’t experienced anything like it before, had nothing to compare it to, and if he’d had time to think about it he wouldn’t have let it happen. So in a way it was fortunate that he hadn’t; he had enjoyed it while it lasted. Not now, he was hating it now. She was in front of him, the red obvious in her cheeks, waiting for him to say something.

“Err,” was all she said, before Charlie came in—thank god he hadn’t come in two seconds before—and interrupted them.

If he thought anything about their position he didn’t say so. They weren’t touching any more, but they still had their arms hanging mid-air, as if they had just hugged. Which they had.

“I’m gonna check up on Joana.” She said, but once she’d taken two steps, she walked back to the bathroom behind the kitchen.

She was feeling ecstatic, electric, a sex goddess. They were talking about books, she teasing him and he answering so quickly he’d surely spoken the truth. She said, “I’m sure you were a Harry Potter fan,” and he’d said “Yes,” and she laughed and said “And who was your favourite character?” And he’d said: “McGonagall.” And she had kissed him because, how could she not, really? (She had half expected him to say Malfoy). And that had been the best kiss of her life, probably. That’s what she was thinking while she peed. Then she washed her hands, her face a bit (she wasn’t wearing any other make-up than mascara), and opened the door. She thought she heard Charlie gushing about how wonderful Joana was, but then she heard her own name and stopped:

“We should go on a double date.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? I thought you were getting along?”

“Just because I talk to someone doesn’t mean I want to date them.”

“You sure? Not even one date?”

“Not ever.”

“Alright, alright, I mean, I thought she was quite fit, isn’t she?”

“What? No. What?”

Someone interrupted them, and Bet waited for the coast to be clear before coming out, a stone in her stomach. She looked for Joana and instead recognised Ela, who’d helped her at the library on her first day of Uni. They said Hi to each other animatedly, and it was Joana who found them. They all three sat on the couch, still warm from the whoever it was that had been sitting there before them. They talked, and laughed, and Bet even joked that she’d heard Charlie ask Liam if he thought she was hot and he’d said no. When they said their goodbyes, Joana and Charlie stared into each other eyes for a bit too long, but he couldn’t ask her on a date—chicken. Bet smiled at Liam as she’d done when they’d met, non-committally, not as if their tongues had been in each other’s mouths and then he’d said to someone else he would never date her.

 

By then, Caroline and Frances were in the bus, almost home already. Caroline had cried a bit, hadn’t been able to help it, and it had been a good distraction for Frances (though she would have never put it like this). She took care of her, with her hand in her back and rubbing her arm, saying: “There, there. I’m sure it didn’t mean anything.” And at the same time she thought that, while she hadn’t seen Ned and Mary kiss at all, she was certain that what they had shared had meant something. Still, she was brave, and far more self-aware than Caroline. Once home, she looked after her, fed her a biscuit and a glass of water, and thought: It will all end well. And It happened for a reason.

Mary realised their friends had escaped when it was too late, and she felt bad, but not too bad: They could’ve warned her, could’ve said bye, What was their deal? She and Ned stayed until the party was officially over. They offered Jamie help to get the set in his car, but he said no, don’t worry, and so they left. Mayra was so drunk Ela’d taken her to sleep upstairs with her. And even though the sun would come up in only a couple of hours, Ned would only be satisfied if he walked her to her Halls. And when they said bye, she didn’t feel drunk at all any more. She was good at drinking and terrible at hangovers: she said that to him, and he half-laughed half-cringed.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

“Me, too.” And he stared at her: his brown eyes, shiny like the stars had been at the early moments of the night, his grin crooked, so happy it didn’t fit in his sharp face. She couldn’t hold the wait and approached him first, giving him just the lightest peck in the cheek.

“See you tomorrow?” He said.

“Today, you mean? No, not today.”

“Monday?”

“Maybe.”

He waited until he saw her get inside. Then he left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The titles of each narrated chapter will be a quotation from either P&P or MP. This time it's an excerpt of a sentence Darcy says the first dance at Meryton.  
> I'll update once a week. I'm writing it down to see if it becomes true :D  
> Thank you Greta & @Tulina for your always-wise advise <3


	4. Chapter 4

**From:** Caroline Bingley  < [ cbingley98@gmail.com ](mailto:cbingley98@gmail.com) >  
**To:** Louisa Bingley  < [ louisabingley@gmail.com ](mailto:louisabingley@gmail.com) >  
**Date:** 2 October 2016, 15:48  
**Subject:** RE Checking up

Dear Lula,

Nothing new since we talked on the phone. What about you?

I’ve been quite busy what with homework and tandem work and now also the classes at the russian language centre, and haven’t had time to think much about anything at all.

Though I must say that yesterday I cooked and made a sausage and mushroom pot pie (the recipe was in a leaflet they gave us titled ‘student recipes’, and it could’ve well said ‘recipes for dummies’ I swear) and it turned out pretty well, but neither F nor M wanted to try it (F’s vegetarian and M’s vegan, turns out).

Mary’s given me one book she says I’ll love and will take my mind off things but I think I’ll just give it back to her and say I loved it. The last thing I feel like right now is reading, you know?

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 2 October 2016, 21:13  
**Subject:** RE Checking up

Dear Lula,

Yeah, they are still NOT friends on facebook. Charlie’s friended Joana and Bet both, but L’s only added the DJ. Don’t want to say it but isn’t it odd?

Love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 3 October 2016, 12:33  
**Subject:** RE Checking up

Dear Lula,

What you say about L: Maybe. M agrees with you. But maybe not right now.

And Oh My God, have you seen the pictures on FB? The ones that Mayra’s posted? You’re only gonna be able to see those I’m tagged on I think, but if you check them out, I can tell you who everybody is: Obviously you saw Mary already in our selfie on instagram, but here she’s the one with the purple velvet top (she’s in a lot of pictures, you’ll find), and Frances isn’t even in any of them. Joana is obviously the one in that picture with Charlie and me in the middle (she doesn’t look very good there, I think she closed her eyes a bit with the flash, she’s a lot prettier, to be fair). If you really want to, there’s one of Frank, Charlie’s classmate (he’s tagged, blue bomber, long-ish hair, has a drink in his hand?) and in the background you can see me with both Bet and L. I mean, you can barely see them, and she only from the back. But you get the idea. Did I tell you she told me to pronounce her name “like Bette, like in _Bette Davis_ ,” I mean, check yourself, right?

I LOVE your new R&B boots and I got so jealous when I saw them that I went to buy a pair (I mean, much much cheaper than yours since I got them in Zara, but pretty cute).

Love,

Caroline

PS: So while I was looking at the photos on FB and telling you about them I saw I had the longest message from Charlie, asking me to help him with Joana (obvs still no mention of what happened with L and B, not that I have talked to him about it). I really wish he’d forget about her, I know she’s pretty but she’s got small town written all over her.

 

 **Date:** 4 October 2016, 15:24  
**Subject:** RE You’re the fittest

Dear Lula,

I know she’s fat, thank you. I said that to M and she said I was crazy, but if her arm is twice mine, what other word am I gonna use? Also yes, Ned is cute/fit. And thank you for your compliments, they made me laugh! I also thought I looked rather good that night <3

About Charlie, I ended up calling him, and said that he should just ask J on a date already, but apparently L’s told him he doesn’t think she’s interested and now he’s lost confidence in himself. So what we’ll do instead is that since we’re meeting every week for our Tandem task, I’ll ask her to come here and we’ll have dinner afterwards with M and F, and see if we can find out more about it.

I cooked again though this time was only pasta with an already-made sauce.

Lots and lots of love,

Caroline

 

 **Date:** 5 October 2016, 14:28  
**Subject:** Flat drama

Dear Lula,

Lately I am so self-absorbed that I forgot to tell you about Mary and Ned, and you have to read this. I don’t know how she hadn’t learned it sooner, but the fact is that Ned’s reading Religions and Theology, which puts M off a lot. She was absolutely weirded out and complaining about it, saying it’s not only impractical, but that, well, it means he’s probably quite devout, and then F said she didn’t see what the problem was, but said it so low that I don’t think M heard her (I did, obviously). M went on and on and at one point F just left the room, though M didn’t think it had anything to do with her. I mean, I know they’re cousins, but for a moment I swear to god I thought F fancied N (and I was sort of happy to be on the same boat). But it’d be gross, and sad.

Anyway, M’s still not sure about Ned and that religions thing, and I think she’s ignoring him. I’ve heard her phone ring a couple of times and nothing. I mean, she could silence it, right? I think she does enjoy the drama of it.

We’re going tonight to a pub at the northern quarter and will finally meet M’s brother. I think it’s where his bandmate/flatmate works and they sometimes play, let you know how it goes! We’re going with Mayra, hopefully it’ll be fun!

Love,

Caroline

PS: M said that the ending all sentences with a ? trick to make L answer me on FB hadn’t worked because it looks too much like I don’t know what I’m talking about. I told her it had worked for you and John! Not that it matters, now, but for future reference.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very very short chapter, but next update is ready for next Thursday.
> 
> Also, I'm quite certain that posh halls in MC provide meals for their residents... Let's just pretend they don't :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline appreciated the incongruity in him: confident but self-deprecating, cerebral and silly. Yes, she could see his appeal. A look from Henry Crawford made you feel strangely interesting—and he looked at her with curiosity, that was true.

**It is nothing but the heat**

Friday, October the 5th

 

When Mary saw him she just walked straight to him and hugged him hard with a laugh. Caroline was startled, she'd never greeted Charlie like that. Could not, in fact, remember hugging him since they were, what, ten and twelve? Apart from that, both the pub and the brother turned out to be a bit of a disappointment: the pub was dirty and dark and Henry Crawford wasn't in any way handsome, she would have even said that he was plain. Though it could be in contrast to Mary that he appeared so. Still, he seemed happy to finally meet them, she and Mayra, and with an arm still around his sister's shoulder, he smiled at both of them with all his teeth. He won Mayra over when he said:

“Honoured to make your acquaintance, ladies.”

And so from the beginning Henry introduced himself as the half gentleman half rascal he happened to be. And they all laughed, Caroline just half-faking it. And once they’d all been introduced, he pointed behind the counter towards his friend, flatmate and “voice to my words” (“the singer to his songs,” said Mary), and both Mayra and Caroline stopped to breathe for a second. He approached them after serving the clients in front of him, and then they remembered to exhale.

“Hi guys.”

Mayra gave him her hand to shake over the bar, and instead he kissed it with a smile—they all laughed about it a good deal. But then Caroline could hardly do the same, could she? And so she just smiled and greeted him from afar. Ian, was his name. Caroline looked at Mary confused, and then to him she said: “I thought she said Will?” and regretted it in case she'd said something she shouldn't have. But he smiled and explained: “Yes, I'm that too. My last name's Willoughby. Ian, Will, it’s all the same.”

Before they realised it, they each had a beer in their hand—Caroline was sort of horrified to think they expected her to drink it, but also glad that she had something to do with her hands. After that, Ian would continue to serve them all night, coming and going from the bar to the booth the four of them had settled on.

Still with the first beer, right after they sat, Henry asked her sister: “So, no vicar?” and she kicked him under the table with a “Shut up.” Mayra knew something about it but wanted to learn the details (“What happened, what happened?”), and laughed when they gave them to her. Yes, Ned was not only studying religions, but had said that religion was “a huge part of his life”. Caroline hadn't known that, and asked “So, is he like, a Catholic?” Mary explained it better: “Apparently he was, but he had a crisis of faith a few years back. He says he believes in God but cannot agree with any organised religion,” here Henry snickered “Tell me something new,” and Mary gave him a look. “Like, he wants to learn about other religions, and wants to learn to be critical and theoretical about his, before—” Henry looked at her unconvinced, inviting her to go on, but she didn’t until Mayra said “Before what?” and then she finished with: “Committing to any church.” They were all startled (Caroline, in fact, gasped out loud), but Mary quickly added “He’s not becoming a vicar!” although she was not completely, one hundred percent sure about that. What she meant really was that he hadn’t mentioned anything about becoming a clergyman, and she hadn’t wanted to ask him in case he said it was on the cards. After the odd silence, Mayra had said “Well, I think it’s romantic.” So that when Ian got there he just heard the last words, not knowing what they were talking about but intrigued enough to look at Mayra intensely with his blue-green eyes. “What is?” Caroline also wanted to know: yes, exactly, what is? She just thought it was very impractical career-wise to become a vicar, to be honest, and almost as much to date one. But Mayra explained: “That guy Mary’s seeing, the way he’s so open about his feelings and stuff.” It was obvious that Ian wanted to agree with Mayra, but he could see in all their faces something was off: “His feelings about Mary?” In Caroline’s answer they got the biggest laugh of the night: “His feelings about Jesus Christ,” she said simply and not wrongly. All clarified, Ian sat by Mayra's side, pushing her towards Caroline, and looked at Mary in front of him: “So, you're gonna date that guy?” Mayra's skin tickled a bit where it brushed with his, but he seemed too distracted by what Mary had to say to notice. Mary just said “No,” and Ian insisted “but he’s keen,” and she raised both her hands, giving up. “You should bring him here next time,” said Henry, and it sounded as if it wasn't the first time either. Ian agreed with a nod, looking at his friend knowingly, “yeah, yeah, we need to see him.” But then he got up and asked “More drinks?”. Caroline shook her head, her half-pint still there, and the Crawford siblings did too, they'd gotten their second pint already. Only Mayra said “Yes, please” and Caroline could have sworn she'd beaten her lashes.

Then there was only the four of them again, and it hadn't been a second yet that Mary said “What's that?” pointing to the ceiling and looking at her brother. Caroline didn't knew what she meant, but Mayra said “Is that The Libertines?” and Henry shook his head: “Trudy or something: derivative but alright.” Still no idea. Then he talked about their own upcoming gig, for an event at the Student Union in a couple of weeks. They had recorded some new songs and were looking forward to playing them with an audience. They'd be there, they all three swore.

Ian came back with a beer and said “On me” while he left it in front of Mayra, leaving before she had time to say anything. She acted nonchalantly after that, but Caroline noticed she started to play with her long curls nervously. She also noticed her chocker, which she liked but couldn't see herself pulling off, and her short vintage-looking dress. Caroline was a very good dresser—dressing well is one of her strengths—but she managed to be over-dressed half the time. Mary had warned her that the pub would be shabby, and as they'd arrived she'd been happy to be wearing a simple outfit (skinny jeans and a cami top with ruffles, plus a cardigan), but now wondered if Ian would have given the free drink to her if it were she wearing the short dress. Not that she liked him, but he looked like a Burberry model, and a girl wasn’t immune.

Henry told them anecdotes and silly stories of other times they had played in the pub, and how the last time they had participated in an event at the Union, the light had gone off and had messed up Ian's mic, so that his hair had raised like a porcupine's. It was an exaggeration, of course, but they laughed all the same. Caroline appreciated the incongruity in him: confident but self-deprecating, cerebral and silly. Yes, she could see his appeal. A look from him made you feel strangely interesting—and he looked at her with curiosity, that was true. What Caroline had no way of knowing was that, once she left for the loo, Henry looked at his sister and asked: “So, what's the deal with Caroline? Is she—smart?” Mary defended her “Oh, she's smart, just physically incapable of thinking outside the box. She speaks four languages, the bitch.” And then she'd added, with a tint of regret, “and her heart got broken recently, so sh,” and shushed at them both with her index on her lips.

When Caroline got back Henry was not sitting with them any more. She sat by Mayra's side, who was saying: “Now really, what do they sound like?”

“Hm, he likes to say their main influence's Radiohead.”

“But?”

“Well, they are obviously not there. And they do sound a bit more dirty. Unless with the slower songs, they sound a bit pop-y in those. But if you ever repeat that to him I will forever deny saying it.” They all laughed and looked at the boys.

“Does Henry write all the songs?” Caroline asked, because that was a question she felt safe making.

“Yes, though they make changes together. I think he never stops tweaking them.”

“Are they like, love songs?” She regretted saying it as soon as she'd said it, but luckily they hadn't laughed at her.

“Not generally, though there's the occasional one.” Mary looked at Mayra knowingly before adding “Though even those are more about what a good lie that girl was and not how much he loved her.”

“Of course,” Mayra nodded. “Would you say—is he really a good singer?” and by He they understood she meant Ian.

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Why?” they both asked simultaneously.

“I mean, that voice and that face together? Means trouble, doesn’t it?”

A silence followed. Was it a warning for them, for Mayra, who looked ready to print his face on her top? More than a Burberry model, now in the context of the band, Caroline could see him as the next Zayn Malik. Oh, how she missed seeing Zayn in her wall everyday as soon as she woke up, but boy posters weren’t something one brought to Uni, she suspected.

“I mean…” Mayra let the sentence fall before she even started it, and silence followed for a few seconds.

“Well, and where does the name Buveurs Désolés come from?” Asked Caroline, who was still waiting to see someone pronounce it right.

“It's form Rimbaud.”

“Oh, really?” Mayra's eyes had gone shiny again (Mary was saying “Henry chose it,” so that Mayra didn’t get any ideas), but then she looked at Caroline, as she'd just remembered there was something she wanted to ask her: “Do you really talk four languages?”

“Well, three fluently counting English,” no way she would admit she could also read a couple more, “I'm getting there with Russian.”

“Russian!” Mayra laughed, “if I were you, the first thing I'd do is pick up War and Peace in the original!”

Mary laughed and warned Caroline, as if she were telling her a secret: “She's a total freak. She’s doing English.”

But English is our language, she wanted to say. Instead: “To become a teacher?”

“Not really—I’m leaning more towards: person who gets paid for being a Brontë expert.”

“Heathcliff, it's me!” sang Mary out of the blue, with an extravagant face and gesture. Mayra laughed really hard and unexpectedly.

“Oh my god, yes!” And they sang together for a bit, raising their arms as if they were talking to the sky.

Caroline took her phone and wrote, pretending it was a message to someone: War & peace, Brontë, Radiohead, Libertines, Trudy & something (?), Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, come home, I'm so cold!

 

This had been the first time that Edmund had even thought about asking Frances to pick him up and not the opposite, but he’d really wanted to show her their house, and all in all, it was less than 10-minutes away—his house and her hall both being within the Victoria Park area. After that, they’d go to a tea shop he had been looking forward to taking her since his first year. She arrived exactly on time, as he’d expected, after having studied the directions on Google Maps for fifteen minutes—just in case her data failed her in the last minute. He opened the door with a ready-smile, and she wished, she really wished, he stopped doing that. Looking so happy to see her! Frances pushed the feeling deep deep down, with the rest of them. And she smiled too, if more demurely, and went in when he invited her to do so. They couldn’t have looked more different, and Caroline was not at fault for thinking they did not look at all like cousins—it was part of the problem, in fact, not being blood-related. Ned was tall, and had a broad even if slim back, dark eyes and hair and a thin long face. If he exercised more, he would look like an athlete, but the hours in his room and in the library showed in the lack of muscles, and despite his darker-than-British skin he didn’t look too tanned either. She was short, slim— _petite_ , in fact, was the world that described her best—had a round face and curly unruly brown hair that she struggled to restraint in low buns and braids. She went out even less than him due to her sickly disposition—her low pressure often resulted in migraines and her iron deficiency on permanent tiredness—but exposure to sunlight wouldn't have any affect on her naturally dark-brown skin anyway. It had been a struggle, sometimes, to look so different from her adoptive family, but it had also made it easier for her to recognise herself in her parents when she looked at the only picture she had of them, now tucked inside her wallet. Life with the Bertrams hadn’t been what she’d describe as happy, but it had been easy. And easy was all she’d wished, already at ten.

Unlike her, too, her cousin lived in a house his father had bought the first time the eldest, Tom—already graduated—had moved to study here. Back then, when Tom was in the third year for the second time and Edmund was in his first, they’d rented the two empty rooms and Tom had kept the fee for himself. Now, with Ned’s sisters occupying the higher floor, there’d been only one empty room, and opposed as Ned was to renting it for his personal profit, he’d offered it free of charge—minus the wifi, which they all paid—to his best friend and classmate, who was now coming from the sofa to say Hi to Frances and ask for her health. If it weren't for him, Frances might have been able to move to the house with her cousins, but she didn't resent him this fact at all. After meeting Hal last year, Frances had made the mistake of believing she’d find friends as charming and genuinely kind as him, like Edmund had, but now the moment had come, and she had Mary and Caroline instead.

Her cousins didn’t honour her with their presence, and Frances did not feel proud of being glad of it. Still, she asked about them and Ned informed her the music coming from upstairs was theirs:

“They’re getting ready for tonight. I know: three hours in advance.”

Hal sat on the sofa again to read (Frances was not a gossip, but she could not help but notice that it was a comic book), and Ned showed her the kitchen and living room (skipped Hal’s room, of course), and his own room and study in the second floor. She realised that although part of her wished she’d been lucky enough to live with Edmund, part of her was also glad of being apart from them, and to have the opportunity to become someone other than the person they had assumed her to be: a wallflower, Edmund’s lapdog, a goody-two-shoes. Edmund couldn’t help it, though, and before leaving he yelled towards the stairs:

“Frances is here! We’re going out for tea!”

And, though nobody left their room, they did get a: “Hi Frances!! Bye guys!!” from Julia and a much less emphatic “Have fun!” from Mia.

In two minutes they were out of the door, walking towards the bus stop:

“So, how was your first day at the shop?”

“Very good. I mean, tiring. But good.”

“I think it’s such a fantastic idea that you do some volunteering. I hope you don’t work many hours, though, that it doesn’t interfere with your classes…”

“Oh no, of course. I’ve only signed up for ten hours a week.”

“Ten hours! That’s alright, not bad at all.” Ned had been volunteering last year at the food bank, and now was looking into doing some volunteering in a shop. Frances had been quick to find a Barnardo’s shop in the city that was looking for an unpaid store assistant. “I’m proud of you, Franny.”

This would come back to her tonight in bed, trying and failing to fall asleep. Why did he say such things? She was so enthralled in the thought that they travelled for most of the bus drive in silence. Only once they got off at the last stop and they started walking towards the tea shop did he start a new conversation.

“So, how’s it going at the flat…?”

“Well. Very well…”

“Yeah? It looked a bit chaotic last time I came.”

“Yes, you’re right. Caroline and Mary… they’re not the most organised people in the universe.” She smiled at him, jokingly. Caroline’s room was, in fact, as tidy and organised as a hotel’s, but it turned out her neatness did not translate to shared spaces. Mary’s was a crime scene.

He cleared his throat and she could see the question forming in his brain as well as if it were her own.

“So, what do you... think of Mary?”

Much more direct that she’d predicted, in fact, which meant that he was much involved than she’d suspected. That she had, in fact, already lost him. Albeit temporarily.

“I like her very much.” There was something about her: Caroline was nicer and generally more proper, qualities she (and Ned) valued highly, but Mary was more honest and sociable. What was more, she was _interesting_ , and, of course, very pretty.

“Yes?” He looked relieved. “She is very charming, isn’t she?”

“Yes, and witty.”

“Yes.” That, he seemed not to appreciate that much. Or it reminded him of something else, “she does say things sometimes that…”

“I think she enjoys shocking people.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: I believe she says worse than she thinks.”

He seemed to like that, but then he added:

“She drank quite a lot at the party.”

And that, she could not refute.

“Are they going out tonight as well?”

She shook her head: “Earlier, they were leaving right after me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, they’re going to the pub Mary’s brother works in. No, his friend works—I think he doesn’t work at all, or studies. Is that—are we in the Northern Quarter?”

“Yes, why?” He added quickly, pointing towards a building across the street: “See, that there’s the tea shop.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Frances smiled from the heart: she looked forward to a late afternoon tea with scones and Edmund.

“Was the pub nearby?”

Then she remembered: “Oh, yes, I think so.” And she saw it in his face, which looked now almost as her heart felt—bitterly disappointed: “Would you like to pop out see if we find them?”

“Not now, not now. We came to have some tea, and they close in an hour.”

 

Mary had received a message:

> Hi, Frances and I are in a teashop in the NQ and she said you might be nearby.

And she asked the rest of them: “So, what do I tell him?” Ian and Mayra had agreed: Tell him to come, tell him to come. Henry’d had some qualms: he’s not gonna stay long, is he? He frankly sounded like a bore, and though he looked forward to meeting him, he didn’t necessarily feel like meeting him now. Caroline had said: Frances, to a pub? Maybe it’d feel a bit like having an ally, like at the party.

So they had invited them, and now Edmund was sitting by Caroline’s side (so that he could look straight at Mary when they talked), and Frances by Henry’s (because it was the only spot left). Ian was still working, and when he’d asked them what they wanted to drink they hadn’t disappointed: sparkly water for him, tab for her. Henry’d asked for another beer.

Caroline could see perfectly well how awkward Frances was feeling, but was more intrigued on how the Crawfords looked at Ned. She could not see Ned’s eyes well, but she imagined how his gaze contorted from looking admiringly at her and reprovingly at him.

The boys conducted each a bit of an interrogation on the other:

“So you live in halls?”

“No, a house—”

“Shared house?”

“My father bought it.”

“Nice. We live in a flat here—so much noise I practically don’t get any sleep until the morning.”

“You don’t work?”

“He’s working with the band.” Mary said, still more protective of his brother than her maybe would-be boyfriend.

Mayra asked to be left out to go to the loo, and Caroline and Edmund got up to let her pass, both distractedly.

“And I’ve started going to the gym,” he joked. Mary laughed and Edmund smiled.

“Oh dear, I should do that too,” agreed Caroline.

“I hate the gym, nobody looks as ugly as they look in the gym,” Mary said, to which her flat-mate said what the rest of them were thinking: “You couldn’t look ugly even in a gym.”

“No: I meant the others.” They laughed, but then she added: “Seriously, I hate gyms. I’d like to play tennis or ride a bike, but don’t have either my racket nor my bike here.”

“Oh, I was gonna buy a new bike, I can give you the old one once I have it, if you want?”

“Really?” Mary could not kid herself: he was a prig, maybe, and a god-fearing Christian. But he was dreamy. His smile, his eyes, the way he bit his lips nervously before talking to her. And how serious he looked when he did not agree with something: too polite to say anything against it, but too honest to pretend he agreed in any way.

Caroline turned and saw Mayra had taken the opportunity to sit in one of the stools by the counter. She was openly flirting, and Ian couldn’t have looked more pleased about it. Sigh. She took the chance to invite Frances to their side, as neither she nor Henry had said anything to each other other than Nice to meet you.

“So how was your first day of volunteering?” She asked her across Ned’s back once she changed seats.

“Well, very well.” Frances looked ill, now that she looked at her.

“Are you sure? You don’t look so well.”

Ned was pulled back to the real world and looked at his cousin worryingly:

“Is there something wrong, Franny?”

Having all eyes on her, she felt compelled to say: “No.” But still, Edmund knew her enough to know this only meant she didn’t want to become a nuisance. “Do you have a headache?”

“Just a little bit.” She was no liar and when asked directly could not help but to tell the truth.

“Oh, dear!” Mary regretted, having caught the way he’d called her Franny instead of the usual Frances.

What a pity, having just arrived a second ago! But they had to leave, they could not possibly stay if Franny did not feel well, and he could not send her home like this by herself. Caroline felt an unspoken weight on her shoulders, as if everyone were expecting her to offer herself instead of Ned to walk Frances home. She did certainly owe her for the party last week, but she didn’t want to leave yet. It was probably all in her head anyway.

“No: no, I’ll leave by myself.” This caused an uproar. “Not if you’re dizzy!” and “What if you faint?” were uttered, echoed by an incredulous “Faint?” from Henry.

“It’s not so bad as all that, it’s just that the teashop was too hot.”

Henry offered to ask for a glass of wine for her: it would help with her blood pressure. But she refused, not even looking him in the eye. She left by herself, and Ned was gloomy as long as five minutes after she’d disappeared out of the pub.

It did Frances good. She wanted to be by herself, she didn’t want Edmund to comfort her right now—the source of her laments. She still remembered how happy he’d made her when he’d promised his old bike to her, barely a month ago, once he’d bought a new one.

“Frances, she’s the kindest person I’ve ever met,” promised Mary, both speaking her thoughts and hoping to ingratiate herself with Ned. It seemed to work in way of a smile, and they all agreed.

“And the best baker,” added Caroline, to which Mary asked: “Right? You reckon she could get on the Bake off?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This chapter's title comes from Mansfield Park, and it is also given as excuse when Fanny doesn't feel well.
> 
> They're all a bunch of hipsters, I apologise (ahem). The song I was thinking of was Sandman by Trudy and the Romance (and Henry is right). 
> 
> Thank you for reading :DDDDDD


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